That's Just Life, Isn't It?
by A-Small-Collection-Of-Nonsense
Summary: Sometimes a hand to hold and a brotherly smile is all you need


Scrooge was in one of S.H.U.S.H headquarters smaller kitchens (It was a multi-million business, so it had several), this particular kitchen was the one you could usually find Scrooge or Bentina in when they weren't on any missions, it was quiet, which made it the perfect place to fill out reports, and it was also the most unused kitchen in the entire place, which meant there was always plenty of food. Whether or not the kitchen was underused because it was small or because it was so commonly used by two of S.H.U.S.H's most famous (and quite frankly terrifying) agents in history was up for debate, but neither complained. Of course, any site commonly used by Agents 22 and McDuck was also the sight of many an argument

'SCROOGE MCDUCK!'

Such as this one

'Yes Bentina?'

'What have you done with my grappling hook?'

Bentina Beakley was standing about a metre away from him with her arms folded and her signature "Someone will die in approximately two minutes" glare. Most ducks would be terrified to see this glare, but then again, most ducks didn't see it on a daily basis. Scrooge, without looking up from the report he was writing, and not at all trying to hide his mischievous grin from her, said 'Oh, you mean the one in the toilet?'

'WHAT?!'

Scrooge howled with laughter as she dashed off towards the bathroom. Of course, it wasn't actually in the toilet, in fact, he was fairly certain she herself had left it by one of the sinks in the same bathroom she'd just run to, but she wouldn't ever admit that. Sure enough, she returned, her beloved grappling hook in its spot at her waist and her fists clenched. Without a word, she punched him hard enough to send him flying into the cupboards underneath the sink and smiled smugly at her handiwork. Scrooge groaned in pain, a little part of him in the back of his head exasperatedly asking why on earth he bothered and teased the feared Agent 22 when 80% of the time he came out of it with broken bones. But the rest of him knew it was because the look on her face right when he told her her precious grappling hook was in the loo was worth more than all the gold in his money bin.

As Scrooge returned to the table, he saw an agent he didn't recognise peeking into the kitchen to see what the commotion was. Bentina saw him too, and so this unknown agent was met with two sets of identical raised eyebrows. He looked slightly intimidated but opened his mouth to ask what the noise had been, before an older agent they both recognised (and were also fairly certain had become a trainer) came and escorted him away, muttering something about that particular kitchen being off-limits to anyone who wasn't McDuck or 22.

The two of them sat in silence for a good while, Scrooge was filing a report from their latest mission, and Bentina was going through Steelbeak's file, trying to figure where his next attack would be. Neither was sure how much time had passed until Scrooge glanced up at the clock and realised he had an hour until his flight back to America. He figured it would take him around half an hour to walk to the airport (He was NOT paying for public transport), which gave him half an hour before he'd have to leave. He looked over to Bentina, who looked ready to rip Steelbeak's file to pieces, and decided to spend his half an hour with her.

'Coffee?' He asked, getting up to make some for himself. She glanced up at him, thought for a moment, before deciding on 'Tea'

Scrooge rolled his eyes, 'Figures, you English are all the same'

Bentina threw her pen at him playfully and they both chuckled at their own antics.

'Could you pass me my pen back?'

'Oh, so ye can chuck it at us again?'

Bentina laughed, 'No, I'm not finished going through Steelbeak's file yet' she cupped her head with one hand and rested her elbow on the table as she turned the page of the aforementioned file. Scrooge shook his head,

'No'

Bentina looked up, slightly annoyed,

'Any particular reason why?'

'You've been working on it for almost three hours'

'and I'm not even halfway through it yet'

'You need a break'

'Oh that's rich coming from you'

Scrooge glared at her. It was common knowledge that neither Agent 22 or McDuck knew when to take a break, in fact, no one was ever surprised if they saw them going through files at four o'clock in the morning when they had a two-week mission they had to leave for at five, because somehow they always managed to stay wide awake through it all. But today, all Scrooge wanted was to take a break.

'Ah'm leavin in an hour, can't a man spend a few hours o' the Christmas season relaxing with his bestest fwiend?'

He put on a babyish voice for that last part, and Bentina rolled her eyes, but she pushed the file aside nonetheless.

Scrooge came over with the tea and coffee and sat back down in his seat. They sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, just drinking their respective beverages, before Bentina spoke,

'So, any plans for the holidays?'

Scrooge snorted, spilling some of his coffee, 'Ah have two bairns runnin wild around the mansion, what do ye think?'

Bentina chuckled, 'and what are you doing for presents? Or have you made up with Mr Claus?'

Scrooge glared at her, 'What that thing did was unforgivable' he took another sip of his drink, 'besides, ye donnae let him in ye'r hoose either'

'No respectable S.H.U.S.H agent allows a stranger to run rampant around their house in the middle of the night'

'Precisely'

Bentina sat her drink down and rested her arms on the table. Scrooge followed suit, only he rested his feet on the table and leant back on his chair until only two of its legs were in the floor.

'How about yerself? Any Christmas plans wi' the mister?'

'Oh I don't have a "mister"'

'Sorry, the missus?'

'Try again'

Scrooge raised an eyebrow,

'So yer a Miss?'

She nodded,

'I started introducing myself as "Mrs" to discourage those stalkers, plus it keeps the media busy'

'Huh, ok then- hang on, stalkers?'

'Stalkers'

'Since when did ye have stalkers?'

'I haven't had any in a few years, the whole "Mrs" thing seems to have worked'

Scrooge shook his head, and brought his drink to his beak for a drink, but spoke first

'So what are ya doin fae the holidays?'

'Working'

Scrooge raised his eyebrow, looking slightly confused for a second, he brought the drink away from his beak, still holding it,

'I think Ah must've misheard ye, what was that?'

'I'm working on Christmas'

Scrooge fell off his chair

Beakley didn't even flinch, she was used to Scrooge's dramatics. He staggered up, trying to ignore the pain from the burning coffee, and stared at her, evidently gobsmacked.

Bentina smirked, 'Are you quite finished?' She asked,

'NO!'

Bentina was slightly taken aback by his outburst, but she sure as hell didn't show it, instead she kept her smirk.

'Well, could you keep your outbursts for the plane journey?'

Scrooge's shocked expression had now turned to a glare,

'Why on earth are ye workin Christmas?!'

'Well I've nothing better to do'

'WHAT?!'

Scrooge had his hands on the table and was leaning on it so hard that Bentina was fairly certain it would flip if she stopped leaning on it.

'I've never really celebrated Christmas'

'Aye ye did!'

'Oh really?'

'Ye always came tae mah Christmas parties!'

'That was all I ever did'

Scrooge stopped a retort before it came out as a realisation hit him.

'Mah parties were all ye had on Christmas, weren't they?'

He spoke quieter than before, and he looked incredibly guilty. Bentina's unbothered and nonchalant stature faltered for a moment, and Scrooge managed a glance to the sadness in her eyes before she corrected herself. She didn't reply, instead, she chose to take a large gulp of her tea. Scrooge picked up his chair and sat down,

'Ah could always start hostin them agai-'

'NO!'

Scrooge looked up in surprise, Bentina had stood up and her chair had fallen over. She soon realised what she'd done and gave a long-suffering sigh. Without a word, she picked her chair up and sat down again. She pinched the bridge of her peak,

'Parties like the ones you used to host are no place for two young children' She was quiet when she spoke, and Scrooge got the feeling that there was something she wasn't telling him, but he didn't press. He would, but he left it for later.

'Don't ye have any family tae spend the holidays with?' Scrooge asked, concern clear in his voice.

'I haven't spoken to anyone in my family in years...' Bentina's voice had gotten quieter, and she now stared into her tea with a vacant expression. Scrooge, without a moments thought about what he was doing, got up. He walked over to where Bentina was sitting and gave her a huge grin when she looked up at him

'Well now's the perfect time tae reconnect!'

'Wha-'

'Do ye know their numbers? I can give them a call'

'Scroo-'

'Oh hush, I'll pay fae any flights or boats or busses, it's Christmas, Ah'm feeling generous!'

'Scr-'

'Of course, Ah've got tae head for mah flight in about twenty minutes now but Ah'll figure something out, I'm Scrooge McDuck!'

'Scrooge I-'

'Ah'll call Duckworth and have him send someone else tae-'

'SCROOGE MCDUCK!'

Scrooge startled at the sound of Bentina's yell, and, for the first time since he'd come over and grinned at her, looked at her. She didn't look angry, she just looked, frustrated? Which wasn't an uncommon expression for him to see on her, he frustrated her a lot, but there was something else behind her eyes, and it looked an awful lot like pain. She seemed to realise this, and changed her expression to a glare. She stared at him for a few seconds before turning to stare into her tea again. Scrooge was about to speak, but she beat him to it,

'Did it not cross your mind that there might be a reason I haven't spoken to my family in years?'

Scrooge winced, he hadn't thought of that. In fact, upon hearing that she'd lost touch with her family, he'd just assumed that it was because she'd thrown herself into her work and gradually lost touch. He figured that they must have a strained relationship, but had it always been like that?

He walked back to his side of the table, picked up his mug and went over to the sink to wash it. He took off his coat too, he'd have Duckworth wash it when he got back, but there were more important matters at hand for now. He didn't go back to the table, instead, he leaned in the worktop and looked at Bentina, who hadn't looked up from her tea yet. He cleared his throat, 'So, are ye going tae elaborate or...?'

Bentina didn't answer

'Oh come on woman! Ye cannae just say somethin like that and expect me to just drop the bloomin subject!'

Bentina still didn't look up, but he saw her expression change into angry determination, he was going to have a hard time getting anything out of her. When she did it was cold and through gritted teeth,

'It's fine'

If Scrooge had been drinking anything he probably would have chocked on it, thankfully he wasn't.

'Do ye think ah'm stupid?! Ye knock over yer chair at the thought of me hosting a party, yell at me when ah try and help ye reconnect with family, tell me there's a reason ye donnae speak with them, and then ye refuse tae tell us what the reason is! In what world is that fine?!'

Bentina finally looked up and stood, and dear god did she look mad,

'Will you just drop it? Don't you have a plane to catch?!'

'THERE ARE MORE IMPORTANT THINGS THAN CATCHIN A BLOODY PLANE!'

'LIKE WHAT?!'

'LIKE FINDIN OUT WHY THE HELL YE HAVNAE SPOKEN TO YER GOD DAMN FAMILY IN YEARS!'

'WELL MAYBE ITS BECAUSE THE LAST TIME I SPOKE TO MY FATHER HE WAS TRYING TO MARRY ME OFF TO SOME EIGHTY YEAR OLD!'

It took them both a few seconds to realise what she'd just said.

Neither of them were happy she had.

When Bentina realised what she'd said, she looked mortified, almost scared, and a little embarrassed. But for whatever reason, she didn't storm off like she usually would of. She just sat down and went back to staring at her tea. It took Scrooge a few more seconds, and he had another question when the shock wore off.

'How old were ye?'

'...'

'How old were ye?'

'...'

'Bentina'

She continued staring at her tea, before sighing in defeat

'...Seventeen...'

She could hear the sound of Scrooge walking over to his chair, and sitting down. She didn't have to look up to know that he was glaring at her.

'The whole story, if ye please'

She sighed again, she was well aware that now she would end up telling him at some point, Scrooge had a way of getting what he wanted. It was better to tell him now rather than in a series of over dramatic revelations, even if it did mean that he'd never look at her the same way again. So she took a deep breath and began.

・○・○・○・○・○・○・○・○ ・

Jonathan Beakley's Christmas parties were very nearly the most talked about thing around that time of year, second only to the age-old question of whether or not Santa Claus should be jailed for breaking and entering. You could find every type of person there, from the high-class ducks that he himself had invited, to the poorer than the poor dogs who climbed in through one of the upstairs windows. From the wine tasters who'd come to gift Mr Beakley with their favourites, to the alcoholics who'd come to take advantage of the free booze. But there was one thing they all had in common, they were not good people. Mr Beakley was one of FOWL's trusted agents, and his Christmas parties were not only his chance to form partnerships with other agents, but it was also a chance for him and whoever he invited to let loose and have what they classed as fun. Of course, the public was unaware of this, and so the poorer than the poor dogs who climbed in through one of the upstairs windows and sometimes the alcoholics who'd come to take advantage of all the free booze would usually end up being the victims of such 'fun'.

None of them went home afterwards.

The parties started out the same, with the high-class being formal, the alcoholics trying their best to look as if they weren't there for the booze, the wine tasters desperately trying to avoid the alcoholics whilst looking for Mr Beakley, and the poorer than the poor Dogs trying to act as though they'd seen food in this quantity a hundred times.

Mr Beakley himself could be seen greeting guests with a kiss on the hand and a sly smile that could either mean "I know you are a sadistic little shit and will most definitely enjoy tonight's festivities" or "You have absolutely no idea what you're getting yourself into, do you?"

As the night would go on, Mr Beakley would hand out drugged drinks to the poorer than the poor dogs, and anyone else he thought would be easy to fool into thinking he was trustworthy.

When the drugs took effect was when the real fun began

But up the stairs and along the corridor, not having very much fun at all, was a little girl, who was curled up in her bed clutching her most trusted soldier, a stuffed duck in an army uniform, who's right eye she'd had to sew back on again at least three times. He was a gift from her mother, who despite her kindness and loving gaze, was a coward at best. Agent 8 had been her goodbye gift, he was meant to watch over her and keep her safe no matter what. But the five-year-old girl only knew that Agent 8 was all she'd have left of her when she heard her father barking out orders to the servants, telling them to find "That god damn woman"

The next time she saw her was in a picture of her smiling sweetly in the newspaper, next to an article about how she'd thrown herself off a bridge a couple miles away from their house.

After her mother's death, her father had gone downhill. Of course, he never been a anywhere near the top of the hill, no, he'd always been a complete psychopath. But after his wife's suicide, he needed something else to let out his frustrations on, and that came in the form of whoever was unfortunate enough to be around him at the wrong time, and all to often, that someone was his daughter.

But apart from when she was the victim of his bad temper, they never really interacted. He was far to busy to bother himself with a little girl, and the little girl herself was all too glad to be away from him.

Sometimes she'd see her father talking to other agents, and once or twice she'd heard screams from the guest rooms.

Anyone else might have completely lost the plot.

But other people were not her.

She was the daughter of a kind and loving woman, who, despite all of her flaws, managed to stay that way even when trapped in all too big of a house with Jonathon Beakley. She used to tell her daughter stories of a secret agency that had been founded to keep FOWL at bay. She told her that one day, they'd come for them, and everything would be just fine.

Her mother had hope, but that hadn't been enough.

Her daughter didn't just have hope.

She had strength, and strength could take you a long way if you knew what to do with it.

One day, she'd know exactly what to do with it.

But for now, nine-year-old Bentina Beakley clutched Agent 8 close to her chest as she heard the door to her room creaking open, and prayed to whatever power was watching over her it was just a servant making sure she hadn't used the party as a distraction while she ran away, and not any guests who'd become bored with the poorer than the poor dogs who'd climbed in through one of the upstairs windows. ﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The smell of food cooking, to most people, was a wonderful smell. The smell of food cooking meant that dinner would come soon, and that meant that soon they'd be sat at the table with their family, enjoying a nice meal and laughing at whatever ridiculous story was being told that day.

But most people were not Bentina Beakley.

When the smell of food cooking drifted up to her room, she immediately tensed. The smell of food cooking meant it was very nearly dinner, and her father had told her that she was to come downstairs for dinner today. Because tonight was the night that Mr Quinton Quackson, an elderly FOWL agent, came to dinner in order to discuss some trade deal, and for whatever reason, her father was dead set on her being present to witness it.

Bentina glanced at the clock, it was five minutes until she was expected to be downstairs for the starter, and her father would not be impressed if she was late. She glanced in the mirror and settled on letting her hair down from it's bun. Of course, hair doesn't generally tend to cooperate with you, especially when you're trying your best to look presentable, and so she was forced to grab her hairbrush and neaten up her hair.

She looked back to the clock, two minutes until dinner.

She straightened her glasses, which had adopted a rather odd position after her hairbrush kept hitting them, and gave Agent 8, who was now missing one eye and if her father asked was absolutely not sitting on her dresser keeping her company, a quick salute before dashing downstairs.

'My, my, Bentina! How you've grown!'

'Yes, she's quite the young lady these days, wouldn't you say?'

Bentina offered a small smile, she might have taken Mr Quackson's words as a compliment if he hadn't said them with such an odd smile. Though he wasn't wrong, the years had done Bentina some favours. She was maturing fast, and though her father, who'd suddenly become much more interested in her now that she was older, was quick to comment on the fact that she was far from skinny, he forgave her thanks to her curves. Her hair was long, blonde and wavy and right now the only thing keeping her fringe from completely blinding her was a pale blue hairband. On that day, she wore a white, long sleeved shirt and a long dress the same colour as her hairband.

Mr Quackson was a mallard duck, so his head was wine green and his beak a brighter yellow than hers. His hands were a pale brown, and she knew that underneath his sleeves there was a brilliant blue by his elbows. He wore an expensive looking suit, with a rose in the pocket of his jacket, and a large top hat with a red ribbon.

He took her hand in his and kissed it, his smile was no longer intimidating, in fact, the old man looked to be quite kind, as though he were kissing the hand of his granddaughter before he took her to a dance. For a moment, Bentina thought that perhaps this dinner wouldn't be the worst thing she would have to live through. But then Mr Quackson locked eyes with her father, and that odd smile graced both of their faces, and dinner was back to being hell on earth.

'Bentina, my dear, would you be so kind as to show our guest to the table?' her father asked, the odd smile not leaving his face. Bentina looked to Mr Quackson, who held out his arm for her to take. She took it and lead him through to the dining room, which she had a sneaking suspicion he already knew the placement of, judging by the fact that it was her who had to quicken the pace to keep up.

Upon arriving in the dining room, Bentina noted that her father had put in an effort to make it seem extra extravagant. The chandelier seemed brighter than she'd ever seen it, and the long wooden table had red ribbon hung delicately around it, with bouquets of flowers here and there. Every chair had a wreath on its back, it all looked very Christmassy, but there was something missing, and Bentina wasn't quite sure what it was.

Mr Quackson sat himself next to the head of the table, which was reserved for Mr Beakley, and she sat opposite him (She'd much rather have sat as far away from the two of them as possible, but she quite rightly assumed that neither gentlemen would be pleased if she did that).

Her father, for whatever reason, hadn't followed them when they'd made their way to the dining room. Mr Quackson didn't seem to mind, in fact, he immediately set to work engaging on a talk.

'So, my lovely, what's the secret?'

Perhaps small talk was the wrong word.

Bentina raised her eyebrow 'Whatever do you mean?'

Mr Quackson grinned,

'Why the secret to your beauty of course!'

He laughed at himself, and Bentina forced herself to laugh as well, and if Mr Quackson heard how forced and uncomfortable it sounded, he didn't comment on it.

'I'm kidding, I'm kidding' he assured her, but then he smiled that same smile she'd seen him give her when he was shaking her hand, 'Well, partly'

'Oh?'

'Yes, I mean it must've taken you hours to get ready, correct?'

'Oh, no, I just put something nice on, and did my hair I suppose, nothing special'

'Hmm, I can't quite bring myself to believe you'

Bentina laughed awkwardly, she hardly thought his comments were appropriate, given the age difference between them, but she'd expected as much from an associate of her father.

'Well little lady, since you claim not to spend much time on your appearance, what is it you do in your free time?'

'Uh, well I read, and umm, I cook, and I clean sometimes I suppose?' 'and I'm constantly trying to work on my strength with push ups, etc. Oh! I also go over every escape route possible for when I'm eighteen and my father inevitably refuses to let me leave so I can run away' She added mentally, but the mental images of what would happen if she told him that were far from pretty.

Mr Quackson nodded as if he was deciding whether or not what she did in her free time was up to his standards, and then smiled at her again, 'Well you've certainly got your hands full, don't you Miss Beakley?'

'Heh, yes...'

Bentina wasn't quite sure what to make of Mr Quackson. He went from being a kind old man who simply wanted to get to know her one second, to being strange and downright creepy the next. He seemed to know his way around, and he knew her name.

'Mr Quackson?'

'Yes my dear?'

'Brilliant' She thought, 'He's in creepy old man mode',

'I was just wondering, have we meet before?'

Mr Quackson's expression changed, his smile was exchanged for a frown,

'No, why on earth would you think that?'

'Oh, i-it's nothing it's just that, uh, you knew my name when we met and I-'

'Aaaah, I see'

Mr Quackson had gone back to smiling, and it was the kind smile too, 'Your father showed me some pictures of you when you were little' he cupped his head with one hand, 'But none of when you were this age'

Bentina looked at him, and gave probably the first genuine look of interest since they'd began talking, 'Oh? Really?'

'Of course! He talks about you an awful lot you know...'

'He does?'

'Constantly...'

The odd smile was back.

Mr Beakley made his entrance just then and took his seat at the head of the table. He and Mr Quackson began discussing the terms of this trade deal, but in such a manner that Bentina wasn't quite sure what the trade was.

'And I will receive my payment when, exactly?'

'On sight, the second the trade is completed'

Mr Beakley nodded.

Seconds later, servants entered carrying the starter. It wasn't anything much, just a very small amount of scallops and radishes. The servant serving her gave her a sympathetic look as he put her plate down.

As they were eating, Bentina, to her surprise, found herself constantly being brought into the discussion. Mr Quackson wanted to know her interests, her talents, and just about everything else you could know about a person. Her father was all too happy to chip in and help her, even if she didn't do half the things he claimed she did.

Dinner seemed to go on for hours, and so came the inevitable question Mr Quackson asked during the third course -

'Sweetheart, I couldn't help but notice you haven't had as much to eat as the two of us, aren't you hungry?'

It was true, Bentina's plates usually didn't have that much on them, it wasn't her choice though, but before she could answer and tell him she just wasn't hungry, Mr Beakley decided he was better equipped to answer the question,

'Well yes that would be my fault' he answered, putting his fork down in its place, 'I've got her on a diet, she could do with losing a few pounds'.

Bentina blushed in embarrassment and looked down at her lap. It made sense, she'd become noticeably bulkier when she first started working out and she'd been surprised when her father hadn't noticed. But it seemed he had, and so she now had an explanation as to why she never seemed to be given as much food as she was used to, and why she'd had to resort to sneaking downstairs at night to put an end to the empty feeling she now almost constantly felt in her stomach.

All of a sudden she didn't feel hungry anymore.

She could hear Mr Quackson agreeing with her father, ('Yes, quite right, though I'm sure she'll look even more lovely in no time at all, won't you my dear?') and she felt a lot bigger than she really was on the outside, though on the inside she felt so incredibly small.

The courses passed like a marble being rolled unenthusiastically down a slope so subtle it was barely there. It drawled on, any slower and it might have stopped completely, forever at the same pace. Never any faster and never any slower, just going on and on to the point where the children rolling it down the hill would grow bored and pick it up, proceeding to find a better place to play.

But this was dinner, not a marble being played with by small children, and so no one picked it up to find a better place to play with it. So dinner was left to its own slow pace until finally, finally, it made its way to the final stretch - the last course.

The last course was eaten in an uncomfortable silence that Bentina was absolutely certain you would have no trouble cutting through with a knife. Moreover, there was some sort of staring hierarchy going on.

Bentina herself had her eyes fixed on her food (occasionally glancing upwards), while Mr Quackson spent the entire time staring at her, hardly even looking at his food as he ate it, and her father was watching both of them, as if they were young children who had misbehaved and were forced to eat their meal in silence. Mr Quackson didn't seem to mind, in fact, every now and then they'd make eye contact, and he'd give him a smile, and Mr Beakley would smile back, and then they'd return to they're staring as if it wasn't happening. Bentina, on the other hand, did mind. In fact, she would have very much liked it if all this staring would stop, but it did not.

Not until Mr Quackson got up.

He rose from his chair with a great racket, the sound of the legs of the chair scraping against the ground, alongside a loud and yet somehow still formal 'Yes!'

He looked to Mr Beakley, who was looking at him with that odd grin once more, and flashed his own odd grin back. 'Yes I think she'll do!'

Bentina looked over at that 'she?' She thought to herself, wondering if she had heard correctly. Up until then she'd been trying her best to look as if she wasn't watching what they were doing, but she'd given up now. Mr Beakley looked happier than she'd ever seen him and was holding out his hand in Mr Quackson's direction. Mr Quackson noticed, and brought a cheque out from his pocket. He put it on the table, and looked at Bentina

'My dear, would you be so kind as to get me a pen?'

'Um, of course...'

'No need!'

They both looked to her father, who was holding a black pen out to Mr Quackson.

'Oh, why thank you' Mr Quackson smiled, and began writing the cheque. Mr Beakley looked like a small child about to be handed a puppy, he was drumming his fingertips on the table and his grin was wide and gleeful.

'Five-hundred thousand pounds, Mr Beakley, now, I believe you have a marriage certificate to give me?'

'Marriage?!'

Bentina couldn't help herself, the word left her beak before she could stop it, and Mr Beakley and Mr Quackson both turned to look at her, Mr Quackson with the odd smile and her father with a satisfied smirk.

'Why yes my dear, I have handed over my part of the trade deal' Mr Quackson said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. On any normal day, Bentina wouldn't have questioned her father's work, but she had a bad feeling about this trade deal.

'A marriage with who? Why is my father involved? What the bloody hell is this trade?!'

Her father was giving her a disapproving look, he didn't like it when she questioned his decisions, while Mr Quackson looked like he was reading a mildly amusing comic strip in the paper.

'My, my, you've got quite a mouth, haven't you my lovely?'

'Don't change the subject, Quackson!'

Her father, at this point, looked like he was fully prepared to kill her any second. Bentina took no notice, neither did Mr Quackson.

Mr Quackson turned to Mr Beakley with a look of fake shock on his face, 'Why Mr Beakley! Did you not tell her? How rude of you!'

Mr Beakley smiled, he looked relieved.

Bentina glanced between the two men.

Then it clicked.

It all made sense.

Perfect, horrible, sense.

Why her father had insisted she be present for the trade deal.

Why Mr Quackson had been so interested in her

Why he'd had given her so many pet names.

Why her father had shown Mr Quackson pictures of her.

Why he'd said that 'She' would do.

Why they'd spoken about marriage certificates.

She wasn't there to witness the trade.

She was the trade.

Mr Quackson seemed to notice the gears turning in her brain, and he grinned at her, with that odd smile.

'Figured it out, have we darling?'

He walked round to her, and put a hand on her chin, tilting her face upwards so she was looking right into his eyes, 'Your father's having some financial troubles my dear'

'Bullshit'

Mr Quackson chuckled, and squeezed her jaw, a silent command to be quiet. Her father came up behind him, smiling the odd smile, 'Financial troubles is the wrong way to put it, yes, but I have had to sell everything I own'

Including her.

Mr Quackson let go of her jaw and stepped back, he seemed to be giving her some sort of inspection.

'Why?'

'Well it doesn't do a man much good to drag a house of ornaments around with him whilst travelling, now does it?' Mr Quackson said, taking time to say the word "ornaments", as if he wanted to make sure she knew that was all she was to them: A pretty little object.

Mr Beakley turned to fully face Mr Quackson, 'I'll be leaving for HQ tomorrow morning, perhaps we can settle any paperwork over a drink?'

His question was directed entirely to Quackson, as if he'd forgotten Bentina was even there. Mr Quackson smiled, 'Yes, I do believe that'd be a fitting way to do things'

The odd smile was ever present on his face.

Mr Beakley, without looking at her and whilst turning to walk towards the lounge with Mr Quackson, asked 'Bentina, would you be so kind as to fetch the drinks'

But the obedient reply of 'Yes Father' never came.

Bentina just stared after them.

It wasn't fair.

Even in the darkest of times, when her father had gotten especially angry, or when she'd been to afraid to go downstairs food, she'd always had something driving her to keep going. There was always something there, telling her to work out, get stronger, and that as soon as she was old enough, she'd be out of the house, on her own, away from her father and his shady business. It had told her that if she just kept preparing, planning and wishing, she'd be able to brave it on her own, be able to defend her self and maybe, do something great. Maybe she'd travel the world, maybe she'd travel to new worlds, maybe she'd become rich and famous, maybe she'd become a member of the police force, maybe she'd discover a life changing medicine, maybe she'd uncover the secrets to life's greatest mystery's, maybe she'd do something know one had ever done before.

But there was no chance for that now.

Now, she was destined to become an obedient house wife who's job it was to raise as many children as she could. She'd be trapped doing the bidding of a man who saw her as nothing more than an object.

It wasn't fair.

She'd never travel the world.

She'd never discover new worlds.

Never do something no one had ever done before.

Never do anything she wanted to do.

Ever

It wasn't fair.

But that was just life, wasn't it?

'No'

She wouldn't let it be her life

Not anymore

Mr Quackson and Mr Beakley whipped around at the same time, like two puppets controlled by the same hand, to stare at her. Mr Quackson looked rather amused, while Mr Beakley looked livid.

'What did you say?' The latter asked with his teeth gritted.

Bentina was breathing heavily, her shoulders heaving. She was glaring at them. Years worth of anger, pain and sadness had finally found their voices.

'I. Said. No.'

Mr Beakley looked at Quackson, 'Quinton, you'll have to forgive her, her mother was a-'

'No, no, it's quite alright'

Mr Beakley looked surprised, and took in Mr Quackson's expression. He somehow still looked as if he were enjoying himself.

'We'll just have to teach her a lesson, won't we old friend?'

The odd smile could barley be described as odd anymore. It was sadistic and cruel, and not at all what would be considered a socially acceptable way to look at a fifteen year old girl - especially when you happened to be an eighty year old man. It was crooked and rotten and wrong.

Mr Beakley didn't seem to think so, because upon seeing his expression and hearing his words, he gave a smirk, and stepped backwards, gesturing towards his daughter. Bentina kept her eyes on both men, knowing that whatever was coming next was the very definition of not good.

Mr Quackson, his crooked and rotten and wrong smile not faltering, took a slow step towards her, and reached a hand into his pocket. He revealed a knife, a knife with a handle made of polished wood with an array of roses and thorns engraved on it, and a clean golden blade, sharper than anything she'd ever seen. He took another step, and Bentina ran.

She ran with her fists bared and rage in her eyes, straight at him, and sent her fist flying into his stomach.

He staggered backwards, not having expected her to fight back after seeing his knife, and coughed, raising a hand to cover his mouth. When he took it away, Bentina saw spots of blood on it. She smirked.

She'd never hurt anyone before, let alone a man who was about to "Teach her a lesson" as he put it.

Man did it feel good seeing that blood.

Mr Quackson disagreed.

As did Mr Beakley.

They weren't smiling anymore, they were both glaring at her, with such rage that anyone else would have ran.

But Bentina had been hiding for too long, and she wasn't about to start it again.

Quackson and her father looked at each other and nodded.

This time, her father came forward, but not slowly whilst dramatically pulling out a weapon. No, he darted forward with the speed of someone half his age, getting behind her and grabbing her arms, holding them firmly behind her back. Mr Quackson, much slower, came towards her and held the golden blade to her cheek. He glared down at her, and she glared up at him. She didn't make much attempt to struggle, knowing that the wrong movement would send the knife right into her cheek, which she quite reasonably didn't want.

Mr Quackson slowly dragged the blade down her face, easily cutting into her flesh and sending crimson blood trickling down her cheek. She tried to pull her head away, but he was using his other hand to hold her hair, keeping her in place.

But none of that seemed to matter when she felt her father take his arms off of hers (not feeling a need to keep them there with Quackson's hold on her hair) and putting one arm around her waist, while snaking another up her shirt. Because the second she felt that, she whipped around to punch him in the face, which resulted in a couple of things.

One: Her father staggering backwards, his hand clutching his face. The glass from one side of his glasses cracked while the other shattered, sending the shards into his eye. He screamed in pain and fell to his knees. Blood came pouring onto his hands, he threw his glasses to the ground, taking his hands off his eyes for a split second to do so. In that split second, Bentina could see that her single punch had resulted in a deformed, bloody mess of what could barely be described as an eye.

Two: In her haste to get her father off of her, she'd almost completely forgotten about Quackson, and whilst punching her father, her entire arm brushed against the golden blade, which had made its way down to the bottom of her cheek a that point. No, brushed was the wrong word, because if it had just brushed against the blade, it probably wouldn't have easily cut through the fabric of her sleeve and left a huge gash reaching from the side of her neck and all the way down her arm, and the blood probably wouldn't have come pouring out of the wound at such a speed, staining her shirt and probably her feathers.

The surprise of her movement meant that it took Quackson slightly longer to react than it would've otherwise. But when he did seem to realise, he yanked her hair (which he'd somehow managed to keep a hold of) and held it as low to the ground as he could without bending down. Which unfortunately for Bentina was low enough to the ground that she was forced to kneel.

Mr Quackson seemed conflicted as to what he should do. On one hand, there was a man bleeding on the floor in front of him. A man who had worked with him for years, and given him his own daughter for a wife.

But on the other hand, the aforementioned daughter was kneeling on the floor, also bleeding, and she needed to be put in her place.

So he threw Bentina roughly downwards, so that she was lying on the ground. Before she had a chance to get up, he was on top of her.

He pinned her hands above her head.

He barley moved when she tried to struggle.

He didn't even seem bothered by her screams.

Seventeen.

She had been seventeen.

And him Eighty.

It hurt.

It hurt like hell.

It was the worst kind of hurt that ever existed.

It was inhumane, it didn't deserve a place on earth or the cosmos.

But neither did ducks like Quackson or her father.

But they lived anyways, they lived and they continued their reign of terror.

And no one ever thought that there might be a world where people like that never existed, where all good people to ever be good banded together to fight the bad.

Because that was just life, wasn't it?

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Only when Quackson decided that the lesson had been sufficiently taught did he get off her. By the time that he did, Bentina had stopped struggling, and so when he left her lying on the ground whilst he attended to Quackson, with her clothes ripped and in some areas completely torn off her, covered in her own dark red blood and his semen, she just lay there.

She felt weak, and everything hurt, and all she wanted was for the pain to end.

So she lay there, waiting for it to be over.

Even when the sounds of helicopters flying over head and cars and motorbikes pulling into the driveway reached the house, she lay there.

Even when gunshots were fired and she heard windows shattering and doors being battered down, she lay there.

Even when she heard Quackson threatening to kill her should whoever had broken in not let them go, she lay there.

Even as everyone in the room watched Mr Quackson help Mr Beakley to slowly walk away from the scene, she lay there.

The last thing she remembered was an agent looking down at her, gently asking if she was alright.

・○・○・○・○・○・○・○・○ ・

There was a pause after she seemed to have finished, but Scrooge didn't speak. She'd paused once or twice throughout the story, and struggled to speak several times. Neither had moved since she'd started speaking, apart from Scrooge deciding to stare at the table instead of at her. Bentina took a shaky breath, and continued to speak,

'When I woke up they took me in for questioning, once they found out who I was they gave me this broach'

She reached into a pocket that Scrooge never knew existed, and brought out a small green broach, the very same one she wore to the auction on their first mission together, and that he'd seen her wear in countless other occasions. From experience he knew it was a tracking device, and it seemed S.H.U.S.H had used it to keep and eye on 22 'They told me to never take it off, it was how they kept tabs on me and made sure I didn't find a way to speak with my father' she chuckled bitterly at that, 'They needn't have worried, I was all to glad to get away from him, but they weren't convinced. They were under the impression that he'd tried to train me into becoming a F.O.W.L agent and perhaps given up at some point, due to my build but total lack of skills in combat.' She stared at the broach in her hands as she spoke, stroking it with her thumb like it needed to be comforted. 'They gave me a choice, either they would let me go and I could live a normal life, with S.H.U.S.H checking up on me every now and then, or I could join them' she smiled, if Scrooge had seen it he would have said it looked fake and sad, but he didn't see it, because they both still stared at the table. 'I don't think I have to tell you which option I chose'

She sighed, 'I knew I could never live a normal life, if I tried to, something would go wrong. I'd messed with two of F.O.W.L's most wanted agents, and they were sure to want revenge. With S.H.U.S.H, I would be protected, and I'd learn to defend my self, and...'

She trailed off, her thumb no longer stroking the broach. She clenched it in her fist, as if it were trying to escape her, 'and I could make sure that F.O.W.L was stopped'

She was now glaring at the broach, as if it was the cause for everything she went through. She did this for a few seconds before loosening her grip, and letting out a breath that neither agent knew she'd been holding, 'Being a S.H.U.S.H Agent felt...amazing... I was trained to endure the worst kinds of pain, fight the worst villains imaginable, I had something to take my anger out on, something to work towards, I had a purpose' she paused for a second, 'I'd never had that before'

'As I climbed the ranks they began to trust me more, even going as far as allowing me to take the broach off' she began stroking it again as she mentioned it, 'But I knew that... one wrong move, one step out of line, one action that gave them the slightest impression that I could work against them and it would all be for nothing' she stopped stroking the broach, and stopped speaking. She wasn't sure why she was telling him this, she'd already told him what he wanted to know, she had no reason tell him her feelings regarding the matter. But she told him anyway, 'So I gave them no reason to think I could ever turn against them. I learned every protocol of by heart, mastered every technique I knew to exist'

Scrooge finally looked up at her, and took in her expression. She looked like it physically pained her to talk about this, like she'd kept it bottled up for her entire life. Which, thinking about it, there was no doubt she had.

'It helped, it made me feel like I had power, knowing all these things. But there was always this fear...this fear that if I slipped up once, none of what I worked for would matter'

It wasn't a case of "was", Scrooge could tell from the way she spoke. She was still afraid, afraid that S.H.U.S.H would decide that she was to much of a danger, that she wasn't worth the trouble anymore, and like an old dusty, broken broach that had been passed down from one to another, she'd be thrown out, and forgotten.

There was nothing more to say, not on Bentina's part. Her story was finished, and so she stared into her tea, looking more vulnerable then Scrooge had ever seen her.

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair what had happened to her.

But that was just life, wasn't it?

Scrooge got up from his chair, coffee cold and forgotten, and walked over to where Bentina was sitting. She didn't look up. He put one hand on the table, and one hand on her shoulder.

She looked up at that, and saw his expression.

He looked sorry for her.

He looked at her the same way they'd look at a victim of F.O.W.L's doings that they'd saved during a mission.

They stayed like that for a while, Scrooge's hand on her shoulder and her looking at her tea, like it wasn't just a cold liquid, like it held the answers to anything she'd ask.

'Ye know... I wasn't completely jokin when Ah said ye were my best friend'

That caught her off guard, and she looked up at him, eyes glistening with tears she never intended on shedding. He was smiling, but it wasn't a typical Scrooge smile. It wasn't full of mischief like his usual one was, no, this smile was kind. It seemed to show his age more, but not as if he were an old man about to take his granddaughter to a dance. No, this smile was that of nothing more than a best friend. A best friend who'd been with you your entire life, seen you through troubles and triumph, argued with you, insulted you, made you want to strangle them, but still made you laugh and held your hand throughout it all.

It was brotherly.

'And ah don't think it would be very friendly of me tae leave mah best friend alone on Christmas'

He stepped back, talking his hand off her shoulder, and extending it out for her to take, 'What do ye say to a wee trip to Duckburg, eh?'

He didn't need to tell her that he didn't hate her for who her father was, or that he didn't blame her. He didn't need to say that he still cared about her, he didn't need to tell her that she was family.

Because she knew. That smile and that extended hand was all that she needed to know that she'd found family in him, real family.

She took his hand.

Because sometimes, a hand to hold and a brotherly smile, is all you need.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Life is strange, Bentina was well aware of that.

One day she was being all but sold off to a man sixty-five years older than her, and then suddenly she was a secret agent working against the organisation not only him, but her father worked for.

Then suddenly she was telling her story to a man she'd worked with for a good many years, to the point she couldn't imagine her life without him.

Then she was spending a week in a large, warm, mansion, with two energetic ducklings who just so happened to have the worst luck in the world, and one of them, who's name was Della, (who had already decided that she would become an adventurer-pilot-who-works-for-a-cool-secret-spy-place-like-S.H.U.S.H-on-the-side) thought she was coolest duck ever, and followed her around, begging to be taught secret-spy-moves and to hear all about her most dangerous missions, and the other joined in sometimes, his name was Donald and he was less enthusiastic about living as a whole. Also present was a butler named Duckworth, who seemed to be trying to see how many times he could find a reason to tell her off, needless to say she found herself butting heads with him once or twice, though they tried to tone it down due to the season, and they did end up becoming friends. Of course there was also the man of the hour, Scrooge McDuck. The two of them found the holiday a great time to relax, and have conversations without working at the same time (even if it turned out the twins had cut the phone lines to stop the calls from the money bin getting to the mansion and tempting Scrooge back to work).

Next thing she knew she was seated at a long wooden table, decorated with ribbons of all colours (courtesy of Donald and Della), a wreath on the back of each chair (Duckworth had refused to let anyone help him make the wreaths - they had to be perfect, but the twins ended up switching the ones on the chairs that were being sat on for personalised wreaths they'd made themselves), amongst the plates of hot food were expensive looking and wonderful smelling candles burning away to themselves (Bentina had picked them out from an old box she'd found in the guest room she was staying in, and the twins had picked a few as well), and plates lined with pure gold (Though if the twins asked they were solid gold), gifted by Scrooge of course. She'd been dragged through to sit down by the the twins ('Your our guest! You shouldn't be bringing the plates through!' 'Yeah, what she said') before the meal was brought out by Duckworth and Scrooge, who was feeling extra helpful due to the season, and Della insisted she sat next to her.

Then she was eating, surrounded by smiling faces, and listening to one of many ridiculous stories of the day, and even chipping in with her own when it was done.

She was surrounded by exactly what had been missing from her father's Christmas dinner: Family.

Real, loving, Family.

Then she'd suddenly decided that the smell of food cooking wasn't such a bad smell after all.

Life is strange.

It takes you on a whirlwind adventure, stopping off at Hell's doorstep and all other kinds of horrible places, but it somehow has a way of dropping you off someplace that makes it all worthwhile.

It's unpredictable and insane.

But that's just life, isn't it?


End file.
